Blinking Lights and Intimate Things

It's been a while since I've written anything. There are a few reasons for that. I'm not really here to list them. When I first started blogging, I did it because I thought I had something significant to say. I thought that my words, if chosen carefully, could possibly move someone, or maybe some mountains or something beautiful like that. But since then, I've realized that's not the case. Anyways, for the (very) few of you who have wondered what I've been doing, I suppose this is for you.

For a few brief moments, somewhere between E. 4th Street and Rye Beach Road, all the calculations, all the rules, and all the precision of my life faded away in an instant. It's been a very long summer.

I'll never forget the first time that I ever saw you. I'll never be able to explain it, but in that moment I knew that I wanted to know everything about you. Getting to know you was the longest tug-of-war I've ever played, but something about you reminded me of that feeling where your heart feels like it's beating outside of it's ribcage. Vulnerability isn't something that I'm good at, but you were always worth the risk.

I'll never know enough about you. I want to know how many scars you have, and memorize the shape of your tongue. I want to climb the curve in your lower back and count your vertebrae, your ribs, your fingers, and your goosebumps. I want to be fluent in your body language. I want you, entire.

If I've learned anything at all this summer, it's that love is not a feeling - it's an ability. Everything falls apart, no exceptions. I try really hard to be thankful for the cracks because they shine light on the places you're able to grow and overcome. But right now I'm stuck in a really terrible place because I don't know if I should move on. I know that it's never wrong to move forward. I love you so much and I am so afraid that you'll reach out to me once I'm already gone, or at least on my way. But I know that I don't want to move backwards.

So just like our first round of tug-of-war, I'll start a new game - limbo, where I sit in an empty apartment doing everything I can to keep my mind from wandering to you with a slight hope in the back of my mind that somehow you'll face down whatever it is you're running from and find the words to make all of this okay.

Whatever happens, I'll always be grateful for everything that we learned, felt, and experienced together all of these years. I love you. Thank you for being.